


It's Your Motherfuckin' Birthday, Zayn Malik

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Braces kink, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Open your trainers," Niall says. "Shit, I mean, your present. Fuck."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Your Motherfuckin' Birthday, Zayn Malik

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked us what Niall got Zayn for his birthday and, um, it got a bit out of hand? This is... really silly in some places, but just, we combined a need for birthday fic and braces kink and rimming that we'd been buzzing about because we have a to do list and- and I mean, it's cool when you can kill multiple kinky birds with one ridiculous stone, so.

Zayn wakes up on his birthday to a new pair of trainers in a poorly wrapped box and Niall perched at the end of his bed. "That's creepy," he says, half sat up and rubbing at his eyes, looking back and forth between Niall and the box. 

"It's your birthday," Niall says, as if that explains it. 

"I'm twenty," Zayn says slowly, more to himself than to Niall, but Niall nods anyway. 

"Open your trainers," Niall says. "Shit, I mean, your present. Fuck."

They're exactly Zayn's size, of course, and he smiles despite everything. "Thanks, Nialler," he hums and waves him over. Niall crawls on his hands and knees straight into the hug Zayn's offering and kisses Zayn on the mouth.

And like, Zayn doesn't mind, not at all- and when he tips his chin away from Niall's enthusiastic kissing a little, gives Niall a funny look, Niall just goes, "What, did you really think you were only getting some fuckin' shoes?"

"Well," Zayn laughs, leaning back, his fingers still fitted into the bones of Niall's shoulders.

Niall waggles his brows, "I've plans to take you out for lunch, later," and pats at Zayn's chest as if chasing the sleep-warmth still left there.

"Y'sure it's not _your_ birthday, mate?" Zayn teases.

Niall shrugs, grins. "Was gonna let you choose, but."

"Oi, enough chatting," Zayn says, jabbing him on the side, and Niall cackles that really, really loud laugh of his.

“No," he says, after a second, "no, I'm not letting you go back to sleep, sorry."

"Birthday boy decides what he wan'sa do," Zayn grumbles, but shifts his legs a little to better accommodate Niall's bony bum. "Y'gonna kiss me some more, then?"

Niall grins- or, his smile widens, he hasn't really stopped since Zayn woke up. "Go brush y'teeth, mate, and I'll kiss you all you want."

Zayn stretches his arms above his head and pads off grumbling about being bossed around on his birthday, but Niall knows he doesn't really mind.

When he gets back, Niall's stolen his warm spot under the covers, but he pulls Zayn in before he can pout too much, presses his thigh between Zayn's and nuzzles in close.

“Are you humming 50 Cent,” Zayn deadpans, more of a statement than a question, because Niall _is_. The worst part is that this isn’t even the first time in his life he’s been referred to, directly or otherwise, as shawty.

“It’s a good song,” Niall says with A Look, and Zayn would never in his life be able to deny that.

So he just grumbles instead, presses his face into his pillow and presses his cold toes to Niall’s ankle to hear him swear. Just when he starts to doze off to the dulcet sounds of Niall chanting _go, go, go_ under his breath, Niall pokes at his ribs for what feels like the billionth time in however long Zayn’s been awake.

“No, we’re not doing that,” Niall admonishes, and before Zayn can try to argue his case he’s being kissed again. Niall hums appreciatively at the taste of minty toothpaste and birthday boy, slips a hand into Zayn’s sleep-mussed hair and almost catches Zayn’s upper lip with his braces in an effort to deepen the kiss, but it’s a rather fantastic way to start a birthday, if Niall does say so himself.

Zayn sighs a little, warm against Niall’s mouth when they pause for breath, and dips his tongue past Niall’s lips, traces his teeth lightly. The braces’ll be gone soon, and it’s a bit silly, but he wants to remember how they feel like this.

Niall lets him take over the kiss, anyway, which Zayn realizes is just his sneaky way of shifting his attention so he can let his hands wander down Zayn’s chest and stomach and over his thighs. Niall’s got strong hands and guitar-callused fingertips, and in the end Zayn just ends up with his mouth open against Niall’s breathing heavily and failing to stifle a few little sounds at the back of his throat.

“So,” he manages, after a minute of Niall’s fingers staying, mostly, in one place, warm and heavy at the tops of his thighs. “You said more than the shoes, is this-”

“Pregaming,” Niall explains, and Zayn laughs. “Foreplay! Whatever you wanna call it. I sort of-” Niall cuts himself off and looks away from Zayn’s face, and a hint of red crawls up his cheeks. “I had something in mind, but like, it’s your birthday so you’re more’n welcome to decide.”

Zayn raises his hand to trace the soft, almost stubble lining Niall’s cheek. He can only really see it in this light, the warm glow of morning peeking through his blinds. He can’t even begrudge the birds singing outside. “I trust you,” he says, lightly.

“Excellent,” Niall hums, pecks at Zayn’s lips once more before wriggling his way down the bed and between Zayn’s legs. “We’re gonna get you naked now,” he informs Zayn, and Zayn has a hard time not laughing, but then again he nearly always does when he’s around Niall. Niall’s all business, though, grabbing at the waistband of Zayn’s loose sweats and waiting for his nod of approval to tug them down and give Zayn’s crotch a lewd once-over.

“That’s nice,” Zayn mumbles, and Niall either doesn’t catch the sarcasm in it or chooses to ignore it, grinning and cupping Zayn’s dick through his briefs.

Zayn shucks off his tee and spares a hope that whatever Niall’s got planned won’t require too much movement on his part, because it’s nice, just laying back and sniffing his Niall-shampoo-scented pillow and arching his hips a bit into the touch.  

“Hey, Zayn,” Niall mumbles, and Zayn hums, fixes him with a lidded stare. “Have you ever, uh, been eaten out?”

Zayn wrinkles his nose instinctively, blinks. “Like, you mean, have I ever gotten a blowjob?”

Niall laughs, and ay, there’s the rub. “No, not- not that, mate, like, y’know.”

“Jesus,” Zayn says, because it’s too early in the day for this shit. “Niall.” He’s staring, he knows, can’t help it, because Niall’s biting his lower lip and licking it shiny and Zayn’s always had a bit of a thing for nice mouths. And he can barely _think_ about the implications, so it’s better to just look. Try to wait for his brain to catch up.

Niall’s sat back on his heels, and the hand formerly palming Zayn’s cock through his pants sits idly against Zayn’s hipbone. “Go shawty?” he says, and Zayn can’t help his fit of giggles just at the perfect comedic timing of it.

“It’s my birthday,” Zayn sighs, once he’s pretty sure he won’t die of laughter with a hard-on, and- and damn Niall is still looking at him like he’s waiting for Zayn to decide if he _wants_ it. “Fuck, Niall, like-” Zayn scrubs a hand over his face, takes a few steadying breaths, and nods. “Yeah, um. No, I haven’t.”

“Alright,” Niall hums, like he’s just filing away this piece of information and not really going anywhere with it. He smooths his hands over Zayn’s thighs again, thumbs at the soft spots under his knees that make Zayn squirm, and then picks back up. “I mean, it’s on offer, anyway,” he says dismissively, tracing the edge of Zayn’s pants, the pads of his fingers rough where the elastic wraps snugly around Zayn’s leg.

Zayn stares at him for a minute, hand still sort of on his own face, messing with his hair, and he sort of wants to claw at himself just to get awake enough to fully appreciate what’s going on. What he _thinks_ is going on, anyway. “Niall,” he whines, because Niall doesn’t respond well to pettiness but he’s always made an exception for Zayn. “I don’t- what. You- is that?”

“I mean, _I_ wanna try it, anyway,” Niall says dismissively. He’s doing this thing now where he dips his thumbs under the elastic of the briefs and pushes them against Zayn’s skin and it’s monumentally distracting. “And if y’don’t like it I can just suck you off. Yeah?”

Zayn chokes out a strangling laugh and licks his lips, leans back into the pillows. “Guess I can live with that,” he agrees, feeling overwhelmed and dizzy and _spoiled_. 

Smiling like _he’s_ the one winning here- which, in Niall’s own way, he _is_ \- Niall pokes at Zayn’s hips and pulls at his pants, finally, grinning at Zayn when his dick presses up against his tummy, thick and hard and shiny at the head. He makes a ridiculous smacky noise with his lips, _mmmm_ ’s appreciatively just to see Zayn blush and swear. When he’s sufficiently ogled him, he leans down to nuzzle along the side of the shaft, sucking wet kisses into the skin of Zayn’s lower stomach. 

Zayn’s still not entirely coherent, the combination of having just woken up and having gotten achingly, ridiculously hard in what was probably record time impairing his ability to make sounds other than half-choked moans and breathy whines. He spreads his legs wider instinctively, pulls them up closer to his chest so he can lift his bum off the mattress, and Niall hums right back in appreciation, “It’ll be good, I think.”

Squirming, Zayn manages a nod when Niall looks to him for confirmation, a choppy jerk of his chin. He can’t stay still, legs shaking a bit as Niall tugs his pants down, toes curling when Niall sits back on his heels to pull the pants off his calves and kisses the side of his knee. He’s struck by the sudden urge to reciprocate, to press his lips and tongue to the silly, unexpected places of Niall’s body and see if it makes him squirm, too; but that will have to come later. He gets to be selfish for now. It’s his birthday.

Once they’re both naked, Niall fits his body along Zayn’s, holding himself up with his forearms on the bed, framing Zayn’s ribs. Zayn can appreciate the effort- Niall’s never been too into what comes between kissing and sex, gets antsy and impatient at the anticipation that goes with wandering hands and mouths. He kisses across Zayn’s collarbones, though, and licks at the dip in between them, and drags his teeth- and to an extent, his braces- down Zayn’s breastbone, palms spread over Zayn’s ribs, one over the dark lines of a tattoo.

When he looks up for approval, Zayn’s watching him intently, chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah, Nialler,” he sighs, because if Niall’s intent was to help him relax, it’s working.

Niall keeps working his way down Zayn’s torso, grinning when his own chest brushes Zayn’s cock on accident as he shifts. He kisses at the smattering of hair beneath Zayn’s bellybutton and down the pronounced dips of his hips, bites hard at the smudge of Zayn’s heart tattoo and then flattens his tongue against the skin. By the time he reaches the base of Zayn’s cock, Zayn’s ready to throw him a party and it’s _his_ birthday, not Niall’s.

“It’s my birthday,” he says again, intelligently, and Niall flashes him a smile before licking a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock, punctuating with a kiss at the slit.

“Yep,” Niall hums, taking Zayn’s prick in his hand and rubbing at the outline of a vein with his thumb, then kissing, open-mouthed, at Zayn’s balls.

Zayn whines, “Yes.” He throws an arm over his eyes but then decides against it, instead tips his chin down into his chest to try and watch Niall move between his legs. The most he really gets to see is his tousled blonde hair- dark at the roots-, his slightly-crinkled forehead, and his focused eyes, but it’s good, grounding.

“Pass me a pillow?” Niall asks, tapping at Zayn’s hip and resting his cheek against Zayn’s inner thigh. His breath against Zayn’s sensitive skin is a little bit distracting, but his words are plain worrying.

Zayn frowns. “What, ‘re you gonna take a nap there or summat?”

“No,” Niall laughs, smiling against Zayn’s leg, “to- for support, like. To lift your hips, yeah?”

“Oh,” Zayn nods, pats blindly at the side of the bed for a pillow and offers it to Niall. He plants his feet down on the bed and lifts his bum when Niall instructs him to, and when they re-settle, Niall mutters something like _that’s more like it_ , satisfied, and pecks a single kiss behind Zayn’s balls, which, _okay_ , has Zayn’s hips jerking on the pillow.

“Warn a bloke,” Zayn huffs, tugging at his own hair, and when Niall hums an apology it’s _right there_ beneath Zayn’s bollocks, which totally beats the purpose of asking in the first place.

It’s a little weird, a little awkward, now that they’ve gotten here. Zayn feels vulnerable in ways he’s not used to being around Niall, when they’ve shared what seems like every other experience, reached for every other boundary. It’s weird to realize there’s _more_ , that there’s things they haven’t done, that there can still be things that are _new_. It’s not all bad, it’s just. It’s weird. Zayn squirms under the weight of it.

“Don’t kick me in the face or anythin’,” Niall grunts, pushing at Zayn’s legs to spread them wider, lift his knees higher. Then, with a hand stroking lazily over the head of Zayn’s cock and the other settled against Zayn’s bum, he kisses, closed-mouthed, at Zayn’s hole. A shiver runs through Zayn’s whole body and Niall has to pull back to smile, to keep his braces from catching Zayn’s skin, but it’s good.

When he leans back in, Niall’s licked over his lips and they’re a wet, warm pressure, only accented by the huff he exhales through his nose, a puff of warm breath over Zayn’s balls, because Zayn literally can _not_ stay still.

It’s just- a lot to deal with, for Zayn. Niall’s calloused fingers are rough on his inner thighs, pushing his legs wide, and he’s breathing over Zayn’s balls, the sensitive skin behind them and, his _mouth_ is right there, even if he’s barely done anything yet. Zayn’s a little terrified he won’t like it and a lot terrified he _will_ , and his body can’t keep up. He can’t stop shaking, can _hear_ his heart in his ears, and Niall is glancing up at him, eyebrows quirked, and Zayn takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Sorry,” he says, “sorry, sorry, it’s.”

 “Good, I hope,” Niall mumbles, and just as easily as he had over Zayn’s hip, flattens his tongue against Zayn’s hole.

Zayn positively _keens_ , back arching off the bed- Niall isn’t even touching his prick anymore but his cock is leaking precome, anyway, shiny against his stomach, and Niall has to hold his hips down, all wide and warm hands that curl over bones, like Zayn might run away.

Zayn’s breath has certainly run away, leaving his lungs breathing, his throat dry, and it _hurts_ to talk but the words tumble out anyway. “Niall, shit, fuck, ah, uh, _ugh_.” 

Making an executive decision to take anything but _stop_ from Zayn as a good sign, Niall sucks a finger into his mouth and then presses the tip into Zayn, flicks his tongue around it. It’s not bad- the way Zayn’s reacting is pretty spectacular, to be fair, and somewhere in the back of his mind Niall feels a bit of pity for the trainers, forgotten at the other side of the bed.

Struggling to keep his head up, Zayn flails a hand at Niall’s shoulders, settles it at his temple, tugging a little at his stupid dark roots. “ _Please_ ,” he manages, and he’s still not sure about this whole thing, about what he _wants_ , but he does trust Niall and he’s so, so glad for that. 

Niall slides his finger in further, takes his mouth away long enough to spit into his free palm and wrap it around Zayn’s dick, stroking him firmly. It’s around the same time as his knuckle hits Zayn’s entrance that he decides to point his tongue and try to nudge it in alongside the finger, humming, willing Zayn to relax and enjoy it, take it.

Zayn’s head goes back _hard_ , eyes closing so tight he sees magenta and neon green play in the darkness, starbursts of light racing across his eyelids. He’s sure, absolutely positive, that he’s being too loud and there will be noise complaints and he’ll lose his voice, happily wave goodbye on Niall’s name. It’s his _birthday_ , fuck’s sake.

It’s a little clumsy, but Niall manages to synchronize both hands and his tongue so he’s stroking Zayn and fucking him with his finger and tongue at roughly the same rhythm. There’ll be statues made in his honor, he’s sure, when he doesn’t even pause between jerking Zayn and rubbing at the head of his prick with his thumb, right across the slit, over and over.

Zayn can’t manage the words to warn Niall like he intends to, and he’s not even really sorry- it’s not like a blowjob, where there’s etiquette to observe, is it. It’s just too _good_ , the heat of Niall’s mouth and the flickering pressure of his tongue such a different counterpoint to his finger, and he’s coming hard with a twist of Niall’s fingers around the head of his dick, moaning freely. 

Niall figures it’s as good a time as any to pull his tongue out and press a kiss to Zayn’s thigh- he keeps his finger inside, works Zayn through his orgasm with his other hand and can’t fucking stop grinning because it _worked_ and Zayn _liked_ it, and there’s absolutely nothing Niall loves more than making others- _Zayn_ \- this happy. “Happy birthday, Zayn,” he says, through a giggle.

Zayn whimpers, a sad little broken sound, and fuck if he’s ruined his voice and won’t even be able to say thanks when his mum calls to say happy birthday- but he can’t be worried about it now, he honestly _does not_ care. The most he can do is knot his fingers in Niall’s hair, pull at him drunkenly because it’s imperative that he thanks him, right now, even if he can’t do it with words.

Niall comes up obediently, plastered half on top of him like he can tell Zayn needs the weight to keep from floating away. One day Zayn will ask _how_ he always knows these things. Magic, probably. For now, he untangles his hand from Niall’s fringe and cups his cock, presses it up against Niall’s stomach and rubs his fingertips against the head dizzily. 

“Fuck,” Niall grunts, and his voice is much raspier than he expected it to be but he goes with it. He’s too gone already to do much more than push his hips against Zayn, rut into his hand a little desperately, wanting just a little more friction, just a little more warmth to bring him off.

“Thanks,” Zayn gasps, and it’s croaky and silly-sounding, still way more than half-breathless, but he’s just glad he can get it past the lump in his throat. He presses his fingertips hard into the dip below the crown of Niall’s dick.

It does it for Niall, and he muffles a shout against Zayn’s shoulder as he comes between them, grinding his hips hard against Zayn’s hand. He mutters something unintelligible as he winds down, collapses half on top of Zayn and grins, yet again, his braces leaving little indents in Zayn’s skin.

Zayn hopes they bruise, or, fuck it, leave little cuts.

It feels like way longer than the actual five minutes it takes for them to get antsy under the sheen of sweat and come they’ve worked up. Niall grunts into Zayn’s neck and Zayn shifts in answer. “Fuckin’ need a shower,” Niall decides, tweaking Zayn’s nipple.

“Yeah, you do,” Zayn teases, brings a hand up to hold Niall’s and keep him from attacking his chest.

Niall lifts his head to look at Zayn, his expression nothing short of bewildered. “Did you know in that song, ‘s not even her birthday?”

“It does say ‘like’ it’s your birthday,” Zayn hums, and Niall frowns, trumped.

“Well... Well, it actually _is_ your birthday,” Niall settles, and Zayn nods in agreement.

“‘m sure this was better,” he says. “Than the song. Sex in the song?”

Niall nods, twining their fingers together and tapping his fingertips along Zayn’s knuckles absently. Then he grins, suddenly. “We could test it, we just have to try again tomorrow. And if today’s is better, then. Like, we’ll know it’s ‘cause it’s birthday sex?”

Zayn wants to cry a little at the fact Niall is suddenly Confucius, but he nods. He also thinks that it’ll probably be better tomorrow, because it’s always better with Niall, every time more so than the last. But he’ll go along with the theory. 

Niall bites at his shoulder and rolls away, looking pleased and, now that Zayn can really see him, flushed. It’s a nice look for him. He runs his fingers through his hair and then winces a little, shrugs. “Shower?”

“I’ve new trainers to wear today and everything,” Zayn nods, looking forward to that rather than scrubbing the mess off his tummy and hips.

“Do you really love them?” Niall asks, sitting up and running his hands through his hair (forgetting so soon, Zayn thinks wryly), a cross between fucked out and happy and bashful that’s too attractive for his own good.

“Of course I do, you knob,” Zayn grins, patting Niall’s knee.

“Cool,” Niall beams. “C’mon, then, shawty.”


End file.
